Where Old French Fries go to Die

            If a forensics expert or a detective ever needs to find out what type of person I was, they will have to look no further than under my car seat. There lies my life with the wreckage and carnage of fast-food restaurants and office supplies. It is where old French fries live out their remaining days, packets of hot sauce and ketchup can age gracefully, and ballpoint pens can always have a home.

         The forensic expert will know right off I was not a tidy man or even the tidy bowl man who looked pretty dapper in those TV commercials. The detective would realize I was careless with my belongings and had a blatant disregard for hair combs. The array of fast-food remnants can say two things; I was a single man with no intention of packing a nutritious lunch or a ravenous slob who ate with unbridled joy. Okay, I am a slob but not a glutton, and I admit I haven’t mastered the art of eating and driving simultaneously.

            I was driving by one of those fancy-schmancy car wash joints the other day, you know, the ones where you can get a decaf vanilla latte along with jasmine air freshener. A traffic jam of cars waited in line happened because they might have offered a discount for wheel cleaning, or maybe the vacuum cleaners were overrun with dog hair. I know my car was filthy and much lived in due to the driving aspect of my job. The accumulation of my life's waste and debris in the car was something that I needed to handle. A friend suggested a tent needed to be put over my vehicle and fumigated, then a hazmat crew needed to come in and surgically clean it out.

            I agreed to tackle the job myself after seeing the line at the car wash. It’s actually a gift boutique and coffee shop disguised as a car wash to entice the fringe customer. Who is the fringe customer, and who needs a vanilla latté and some artwork when they go there? I felt it was time I broke out the car wash super package of cleaners that I received for Christmas a couple of years ago. There are liquid concoctions and brushes for all parts of the car for a complete makeover. Now I know why people wait in line for hours to get their vehicle pampered at the hoity-toity car wash joint. It took me five hours to get my car clean enough to reach the level of cleanliness that looked like I paid to have it done.  I can't say it was fun or even resembled any form of pleasure.

         Having a clean car is overrated because I love to eat French Fries right after getting them from the drive-through window. Some of those fries will find a place in my car that, when discovered, will bring back fond memories of our time together.